


cras amet qui nunquam amavit

by eriklxmela



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Time Skips, brief winksy x eric and regui x pierre, harry kane being harry kane, homoeroticism in MY tottenham hotspur? its more likely than you think, i dont know how to tag properly help, sonny has a sexuality crisis, sonny has some religious trauma, vivid descriptions of their very gay celebrations, winksy being a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriklxmela/pseuds/eriklxmela
Summary: Son Heung-min buried his face into Harry's chest and selfishly wished he had the responsibility of being his heart.
Relationships: Harry Kane/Son Heung-Min
Comments: 23
Kudos: 65





	cras amet qui nunquam amavit

**Author's Note:**

> cras amet qui nunquam amavit - 'may he love tomorrow he who has never loved before'
> 
> This is dedicated to @sitkowski, @lovesomehate, @yoontheavenger, @schecoperez, @tcttenham, @extra--time and of course to the goddess of fic writing herself, @sonnybabey
> 
> Thank you all for giving me amazing inspiration wiv KaneSon content and finally getting me to write this thing! And thank you to my friend Amoona who helped edit this for me <3
> 
> This is my first ever fic so apologies if the writing is god awful.

To Son Heung-min, Harry Kane was special. 

He first understood these feelings to be pure admiration, something innocent that would never turn cheeks red and palms slick with sweat.

He’d only recently transferred from Bayer Leverkusen to Tottenham and his English was a little rusty. He had felt so, so alone, like a goddamn fool every time he accidentally blurted out something in German. The other day, he’d forgotten the word for the cones he was picking up off the ground and desperately gestured to them with a whine: 

“ _Kegel!_ ”

He heard Kyle Walker snigger behind him and felt the shame of his cheeks warming in embarrassment. He nervously laughed and forced a grin to tug at his lips – he needed to keep up his light-hearted persona for his own sanity. He couldn’t look weak and easily pushed around in front of all these men he was so clearly held at a lower standard to.

And then suddenly a weight on his shoulder pulled him out of his spiralling thoughts.

Feather light fingers traced the skin along his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“Do you need help putting the cones away?” 

A voice so husky, so sweet – his words slurred in the best way.

Sonny remembered shuddering. He remembered Harry Kane’s breath ghosting the shell of his ear as they both bent down to pick up the same cone (Sonny vowed he’d never forget that word again) and how he barely managed to suppress another whine that stopped just short in his throat.

Maybe it was never innocent.

-

Harry Kane quickly became Harry, then even quicker became H. 

They’d grown closer as the seasons went by – going from stiff nods to cautious pats. The intimacy of their touch went from palms on each other’s back, back to Harry’s nails tracing patterns on the bare skin of Sonny’s upper thigh when his shorts had hitched up in an interview. 

He recalled the female interviewer glancing down to his lap and silently prayed she was only looking at the Englishman’s hands. He couldn’t say why he felt so smug as she caught his eye and quickly averted her gaze back down to the sheet of questions she was reading from.

-

He would never forget the first time he jumped into Harry’s arms, the feeling of his thighs tightening around the other man’s pelvis, the way his own waist was desperately clutched at by his arms, and the sensation of lips murmuring sweet sounds against the column of his neck.

“Incredible. You’re incredible. Done so amazing, done so fucking good.” 

He felt winded as he slid down Harry’s body.

-

He still didn’t really understand why he silently cried in the showers after they won the game, or why the skin of his throat burned every time he glanced at H across the changing room, or why his head swam and lips curled in rare irritation watching Harry energetically tease Dele (who hung around his shoulders whinging) about his open goal miss, shirtless in his boxers.

He unclenched his hands from the bench below him and wordlessly stared at the wood markings etched onto his burning palm.

Son Heung-Min couldn’t sleep that night.

-

This was an annoying pattern that he noticed to occurr whenever he launched himself into Harry’s arms.

He found himself thinking about other celebrations he could do to protect his precious sleep schedule. A knee-slide? Can’t ever go wrong with a classic. A Bale-esque heart over the cockerel on this chest? He’d get Instagram comments like ‘shag me Sonny’ for months. 

These were safe celebrations, celebrations that wouldn’t cause a stabbing pain in his abdomen as he breathed in the smell of sweat and artificial grass from exposed collarbone. Celebrations that wouldn’t result in him staring at himself shirtless in the mirror, religiously fixated on the fingerprints that Harry had seared into his milky skin. 

He vaguely thought he looked like the flag of England, all blushing red contrasted with white, white, white. 

In a panic, he slammed his palm over the light switch, and the consequential darkness that distorted his view was a welcome comfort as he stumbled towards his bed.

-

The next morning, he absentmindedly pulled on a knitted sweater gifted from Harry with his back to the reflective surface that taunted him in the middle of the room. 

His midsection still burned fierce when the realisation that the wool scratching his stomach felt like an all too familiar beard finally started to settle in. It was too late to go back and change, he thought, flexing his thigh muscles as he shifted nervously in the seat of his car.

Sonny arrived at the training ground practically like a zombie, almost face planted into his eggs and barely found the energy to chuck a packet of Lurpak at Winsky’s head, who asked him if he’d gone for a celebratory shag the night before to explain his fatigue.

Son thought of his evening, of one of his hands pressing hard around his jugular whilst the other fiercely gripped the markings on his hip bone, painfully making its descent down and down further and further until his entire body lurched as he forcibly suppressed a gag.

“Mate?” Winks put down his paper copy of the Daily Mail in concern. “Mate are you alri–”

Sonny dry heaved again and stood up so fast the entire table rattled. He knew people were staring and whispering. Knew they all saw the guilt and tears in his eyes. Knew they could probably assume what he did last night to the thought of his teammate. To his best fucking friend. To a _man_.

“H! Hey Harry Mate! Sonny’s not –”

His career at Tottenham and in the South Korean national team would be over. His captaincy would be revoked, and he’d go from being the poster boy of Korean football to public enemy number one.

“He hasn’t looked well ever since he fucking walked in! I didn’t mean to set him off I was just joki– ”

He’d be disowned by his parents so fast, no one would ever talk to him again, he’d be left to fend for himself with this dirty fucking brand of _quee_ –

“Hey. Focus on me.” 

Two familiar hands on his face – palms that fit against the grooves on his skin like a puzzle. The tip of a singular finger stroking the space underneath his jawline.

“Heung-min it’s okay. Open your eyes. Breathe with me? Together?”

Sonny sucked in a sharp breath and blinked up at England’s own poster boy. That was the first time he’d ever called him by his given name. 

One hand cupping his face let go and Sonny shivered as the resulting chill stung the tears that pooled in the dents of his nose. Harry gently guided said hand into Son’s own and pressed both against his chest.

“Feel my heart?” He could only dumbly nod, unable to acknowledge anything other than the pulsing of Harry’s fingers tight against his wrist.

“Keep in time with me. I’ve got you.” Another hand threaded itself into Son’s hair and he felt himself gently be guided into the space above Harry’s collarbones. The feeling of hard bone pressing into the soft cheek was grounding.

“Together okay?” Together.

Wistfully, he thought if he were one day brave enough to tell the world his sins, maybe he wouldn’t be as alone as he worked himself up to believe. Sonny took in a shuddering deep breath and weakly pursed his lips at the familiar waft of posh cashmere and cheap Lynx Africa. As long as he had Harry Kane.

(As long as Harry Kane wanted him.)

-

Winks kept shooting the both of them strange looks during training until his eyes went wide and he swore under his breath. Eric Dier caught a glimpse of his overdue realisation and whacked him across the head.

“Oi! Prick! I’m not against it you know!” 

Eric Dier hit him again. 

“Piss off you fucking Commie!” 

Eric Dier hit him a third time for good measure.

Cute, he grinned as Winks stomped his feet in indignation.

-

Son vowed from that (frankly embarrassing) incident then on, he’d be there for Harry at his worst. Not that he thought that day would come any time soon – he masked how he was feeling most of the time well, even as the number one advocate for men’s mental health.

Even when it was just the two of them alone at Harry’s illustrious home watching reruns of The Chase, Son frequently found himself sneaking glances at the man who lounged across the sofa, his ankles pressing hard enough to leave a dent into Sonny’s upper thigh.

Was he really enjoying himself? Or did he feel like he had no choice but to let Son in, who showed up unannounced with two pot noodles and some fizzy cola laces. (God. He could properly go for that pot noodle right now. Beef and tomato – he subconsciously drooled at the thought. The nutrition team would lose their shit if they ever found out. Fuck. Harry only liked chicken and mushroom didn’t he? Idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot! What kind of best friend was he if he couldn’t even remember his pot noodle order! Not like he even ordered it in the first place.)

“I always think it’s proper mad they don’t even let up for the charity events.” Harry turned to him with a lazy grin. Heung-min huffed in relief.

Okay. Okay he was having fun. He quickly made a mental note to hide the pot noodles in his bag and pretend he only came equipped with the laces. Did he even like sweets? Son began to panic again.

“They’ve got to keep up their reputations as meanies somehow!” Harry laughed and leant over to flick his neck. 

“I wouldn’t let you win, you know? If I was a Chaser,” he hummed. He left his hand hovering above Son’s throat, grazing up and down its length. “I’d do anything I could to shut you up.”

Son swallowed. He was feeling a bit dehydrated. 

“I wouldn’t make it easy for you.” Harry drew his lips into a thin line and pressed the pads of his fingers into the side of his throat, right near his pulse. It wasn’t until Son felt dizzy with breathlessness, hyper focused on his accelerating heart rate, rigid in his seat, that Harry let up and retracted his hand.

“You never have.” 

For one ridiculous moment, Son thought he heard longing in his voice. “That’s what makes you special.” 

In the course of the evening, Son was painfully aware of Harry’s refusal to meet his eye. He tried to not give it any more thought as he lay clutching the sheets in Harry’s spare room, praying the walls were thick enough to mask the hitching of his breath as he rolled his hips into sleek fabric that smelt like cheap deodorant and grassy wool – everything in this fucking house smelled like him.

 _Filthy._ The voices in his head were calling him. _Disgusting_. 

He bolted out the door the next morning without saying goodbye, and spent the drive back home convincing himself he hadn’t left a stain.

-

The first time he held Harry as he cried was in their shared hotel room after that nightmare of a Champion’s League final. H’s body shook as he cursed himself to Hell, voice thick with grief as he desperately clutched onto the thin material of Son’s nightshirt. He felt helpless as he buried his own nose into Harry’s hair, violently hardened with hair gel that refused to absorb Son’s tears. He bitterly thought it was a pretty shit metaphor for their success. They always had this stupid fucking wall in front of them. There was never any gain. They worked this hard for what? Harry worked this hard for what?

For ‘#Spursy’ to trend on Twitter for a week? 

He was suddenly overcome with fear that Harry would leave Tottenham in the summer. Leave everything Mauricio had so lovingly built up at the club.

Leave him.

He had the urge to vomit as the younger man practically wailed apologies into him. _Not good enough. Never been good enough. ‘At’s why ‘ey’ve always shipped m’ off. Should’ve been benched. Should’ve let Lucas play. All m’ fault._

Son practically shoved himself off Harry and the man blearily stared up at him in confusion, swaying on the floor. He was angry. _Why was he angry?_

“You,” he breathed out hard – fists curled by his sides, “you don’t get to fucking decide that.” Harry looked as lost as he felt. _What was he saying?_

“It’s always been a team effort yeah? It’s never just been about you. We’re Tottenham Hotspur FC – not fucking Harry Kane and the Pricks Who Wipe His Arse After Him.” Shut up. _Shut up._ Harry looked stunned. He was stunned himself. 

“I know that.” He spoke thickly through tears. “I know that, but as the face of Spurs –”

“You’re not even the fucking captain Harry.” _Why were they fighting?_ “We lost together. We fucked up together. If you stopped being selfish for one moment in your fucking life you’d realise how devastated we all are. We’re all responsible for tonight. Whether you like it or not.” Harry stood himself up and scowled down at Son.

“You’re not listening to me. I’m not denying any of that but –”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me!” In the back of his mind Son registered that he was yelling. “Everyone in the team cares for you. We all know how important you are. I can’t imagine a life at this fucking club without you!” _Please_ , begged the only rational part of his brain. _Please stop talking before you take it too far._

“But watching you push me away constantly when you’re upset is driving me insane. I can’t keep watching you hurt yourself like this,” he sobbed hard. “Especially when I’m partially the reason why you’re so upset! Let me fucking take responsibility!” He desperately clutched at his bare arms, chest heaving. 

Why did he say that? 

With the last bit of courage he could muster, he raised his head to stare into Harry’s eyes for the first time that night. 

Emotionless. 

He’d fucked up.

“Sorry. God – fuck. I’m sorry I didn’t mean –” Harry still stood there silent. The tears had dried on his face during Son’s meltdown. “I think – I think I should sleep somewhere else tonight.” Son turned and walked out the door without waiting for a response. He knew if he waited for one he’d never be able to play for the club again out of shame. He didn’t know where he was going, he just needed to leave. 

After a night of deliriously stumbling along corridors, he awoke the next morning face first on one of the Hotel’s café tables. When he begrudgingly made his way upstairs to pack his belongings for the trip back to London, Harry was nowhere to be found.

He finally caught a glimpse of the man as they all lined up to board the bus. Son couldn’t help but be painfully conscious of the unfamiliar distance between the two of them. He hadn’t even spared him a glance as he pushed himself out the hotel doors, unlike the gentle smiles he sent Dele and Winksy’s way as they walked through themselves. 

He pretended to ignore the quizzical stares Jan and Eric sent his way.

As the team piled onto the coach, Son realised this was the first time in five years that Harry hadn’t sat next to him.

So, this is what it felt like to be alone.

He was sure this was punishment from God.

-

As the months went by, their relationship seemed like a lost cause. 

Harry was finally talking to him again but made a very clear point to never touch him unless it was absolutely necessary – and when he had no choice but to, he always snatched back his hand like Son was something dirty to touch. 

_You are_ , the voices would say.

And yet, Sonny would still beam at Harry and crack jokes with the others as a means to ignore the way his heart was screaming that one more curl of H’s lip would deem it irreparable.

The nights were getting colder and Sonny would lay awake longing for innocent touches. He wanted Harry’s hands on his cheek, to roam his sore back muscles and tense shoulders before finding its home, entangled in his hair. It would’ve been so much easier for him if he just wanted his fingers around his neck or the imprint of his palm onto the flesh of his thighs. He could’ve at least taken his frustrations out face down on his mattress, but right now, all he wanted was for someone to be gentle with him. 

Curled up on his side, Son Heung-Min sobbed with the force of a person vomiting on all fours. 

_You deserve this_ , he chanted to himself every night. _You reap what you sow._

He’d rock up to training the next day all wide grins and loud laughter before the façade dropped at home as he sniffled into his chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle, with reruns of the Chase on the TV acting as background noise to distract himself from the brutal lashings of his mind. 

_A disgrace to your team and a stain to your family._

Son reached for the remote and upped the sound of the programme by twenty levels, anything to stop the wretched thoughts from crawling up his mind.

-

Things, as they always found themselves to be at Spurs, went from bad to worse. 

No one expected them to fire Mauricio. The team had walked into the changing room, moody from their loss the day before, and the heartfelt message messily scrawled onto their tactics board was like a slap in the face. 

They hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. 

Dele murmured a soft _holy shit_ and Jan stood there in sheer disbelief. Sissoko let out a flurry of foreign curses and Winks was the main contender for players who looked like they were seconds away from a mental breakdown. 

Harry looked calm – and that’s what terrified Heung-min. 

He didn’t even look agitated. Just pure, scarily stoic. Like when they walked past the UCL cup adorned with scarlet tassels, and Son couldn’t bear to take his eyes off Harry, whose head was cast down – lips a firm, emotionless line.

Like that night in their hotel room in Madrid. 

Son knew that in this moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to leg it out the door, but he couldn’t look vulnerable in front of the team. He’d been there himself when he first transferred to the club.

He understood. 

Son walked up to the man and went to delicately grab his arm in reassurance. To show that he was there. That he’d never leave him despite all that had happened between the two of them.

For the first time in over five months, Harry let himself be held.

Sonny’s lips wobbled as he felt the anxious tremors in Harry’s bicep. He trusted him. Despite everything, H still trusted him enough to be emotionally vulnerable around him. As Son went to retract his hand, feeling as if he were overstepping their newly set boundaries, H grabbed his wrist fast. 

“Stay.” It was quiet, barely a whisper, but Sonny heard him. He always heard him. “Please.” The desperation in his voice had Son’s eyes burning. 

With shaking limbs, he stroked up the short strands of hair on Harry’s arm before encircling his own around the striker’s bicep and lowered his head onto his shoulder. Feeling bold, he pursed his lips into his shoulder blade only to hear the man sigh and lean impossibly further into his touch.

For the first time since Sonny had fallen in love with Harry, the voices in his head were silent. 

_I would do anything to never have to leave your side. Even if it left me shunned from the world and damned to eternal Hell, I would suffer it all if I could wake up every day to unapologetically love you._

He forcibly choked down the confession bubbling in his throat. This was neither the time nor the place. Not when the changing room was a cacophony of accusatory shouts and heartbroken sobs.

And then Harry was lightly shoving Son off him and before he had the chance to overthink the entire movement, he laced their fingers together and oh.

Loving Harry was torture and Sonny was starting to think he was a bit of a masochist.

-

The ‘painful rebuild’ Pochettino had always talked to the media about was in fact, as marketed on the tin – extremely painful. 

The first season under Mourinho was awful, Spurs finished sixth and were barely able to secure Europa League qualification. On top of that came the overhaul of players: Eriksen, Danny, Vorm, Walker-Peters, and worst of all, Jan.

The night Vertonghen had left, Son stayed over at Harry’s, face swollen from sheer grief at losing someone he’d come to view as his own brother. Instead of chucking him into the spare room like he usually did, Harry dominantly placed a large hand onto the small of his back and guided him to his bed. 

Sonny weakly protested, throat croaky: “Not fair. This is yours – I don’t want you to sleep in one of the smaller rooms in your own home.” H took sudden interest in the floor. 

“I thought –” he reflexively clenched his fingers on the back of the cashmere jumper Sonny had stolen from him after whining about being cold on the sofa earlier. The unexpected tightening of the material left him breathless. He was always breathless around Harry. Maybe it was time for him to invest in an inhaler. “I thought you might not want to be alone tonight.” Then very quietly, “to be honest I don’t really want to be. I guess this is just me being selfish again.”

Son had to physically stop himself from wincing and manoeuvred out of Harry’s touch, collapsing onto the king-sized bed, legs and arms spread wide. He gave Harry a small smile – he wasn’t going to let this moment be ruined by past mistakes.

“I think I’m still a bit cold.” Harry’s eyes gleamed as he grinned back at him.

“Oh? Want me to turn the heaters up a bit more? Get you another jumper?” He feigned ignorance. Son pouted and stuck his leg out to kick at the younger man. 

“You know what I mean!” He lashed out harder before Harry grabbed a hold of his ankle and pulled him down the mattress until he was hovering over the Korean, his other hand planted firmly next to Son’s head. 

“I won’t know unless you use your words.” 

_Oh fuck._

A familiar pool of arousal was settling in his stomach. 

_Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard._

Son shook his head and looped his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him down until they were flush against each other, and all he could focus on was the slow breathing ghosting his neck and the feeling of his own nose buried in newly washed hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about how H’s sharp hipbones slotted perfectly into the dips of his own like two pieces of a jigsaw. 

He couldn’t use his words around Harry. If he did he’d say something he’d regret again. Something they couldn’t ignore like last time. Something so incredibly stupid and career ending like: 

“I didn’t want to fall in love with you – I had a plan. I had it all figured out and then you – you turned everything upside down for me like it all meant nothing. Like it came effortlessly for you.” 

So Son breathed in the smell of Harry’s Love Hearts scented shampoo and said nothing.

That night, they slept with the lights on, neither of them wanting to pull away from the mess of entangled limbs first. Life was short. They were losing their family at Tottenham fast and had come so terrifyingly close to almost losing each other. In that bedroom, it was just the two of them. No disturbances, no ugly thoughts, just the feeling of warmth and the occasional soft kiss against skin or hair. 

For the first time in five years, Sonny fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

-

This season was undoubtedly theirs. Things were clicking into place, on and off the pitch, for Harry and Son. Things were more connected than ever between them. To Son, they felt like one unified being rather than two separate identities. 

After their first proper training match with the new transfers, Sergio Reguilon turned to Sonny and beamed up at him like they were childhood friends. 

“You and Harry!” Son blinked back at him. 

“Me and Harry?” Reguilon, ever the ball of energy, nodded enthusiastically. “Must have been married in a past life!” He bounced his head up and down faster. “So much trust! No matter how far away you are, you two always find each other.” Sergio grinned impossibly wider at Sonny who willed his cheeks to stop burning. “I’m jealous! Wish I had someone to love like that!” Reguilon moaned dejectedly. Before Son could splutter out any indignations, Hojbjerg walked up to them and ruffled the boy’s hair. 

“I love you Regui! _Te amo! Jeg elsker dig!_ ” Sergio giggled high pitched and cute as he looped their arms together before skipping off.

Son stood there paralysed. 

Love? 

He did love Harry. Loved him for longer than he ever realised. Loved the way he stuck out his tongue as he lined himself up to shoot for goal. Loved the way he’d lean over and wipe away the pasta sauce staining the side of Sonny’s lip during their weekly takeaway nights. Loved the sharp points of his beard against his fingers, delightedly painful. Loved the way he snored into his chest like a cat after stumbling into the first empty bedroom they found in either of their homes after a taxing game. Loved the way his eyes darkened staring into Son’s own, murmuring _good boy_ when Sonny scored, when he assisted, when he got changed quick so Harry wouldn’t have to wait for long so he could drive them both back home. 

Thinking about it, neither of them had their own houses anymore. Son had realised that when he went to take the bins out the other day, only to be met with cans of Harry’s deodorant and an empty chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle. 

Son loved him. But Harry? Did Harry love him? He remained still and thought of their fight in Madrid.

Thought of the months that came after.

As soon as he’d walk into a room, Harry would find an excuse to bolt out. He’d stare at the ground or over his shoulder when Sonny desperately tried to talk tactics with him. He’d make sure to launch the ball over to Dele or Erik on the pitch even when Sonny was screaming that he was free. Whenever he’d brush past Son he’d flinch away like he had been burned. 

He inhaled sharply as he realised something very important. 

Harry was afraid.

Son thought of his meltdown in the cafeteria the morning he pitifully acknowledged he wouldn’t be the straight footballer everyone expected him to be. Thought of how he was so sure that his life and career were over. Harry was as important in England as Son was in South Korea. He was afraid to lose that spotlight in the media. Afraid to lose his friends, family, and fans. 

Exactly how he had felt.

He thought about Harry now. The Harry that lazily kissed up his neck as they lay in bed together on a Sunday morning. The Harry that pulled him into his lap at every chance he got. The Harry that would tug at his hair to reprimand him in training and the Harry that murmured soft praises into his cheek when he slammed the balls he sent his way into the back of the net. He thought about the Harry that called him his pretty boy as he walked downstairs wearing his dressing gown and the Harry that would pull him close as they slow-danced to the shitty covers of 90s love songs blaring out from the TV when Strictly was on. 

He exhaled deep, slow, and shuddering. Maybe it wasn’t crazy to think that Harry loved him too.

-

The rest of the team were screaming in delight and there were a mess of bodies around him – around Harry. The side of his face was pressed up hard against his and Sonny held his breath as his jawline was rubbed raw from the knife-like points of H’s beard. It hurt so fucking good and Sonny was so overwhelmed he could’ve cried, the pain in his chest from when he missed earlier now aching for a reason he couldn’t stop thinking about ever since he had that conversation with Regui.

A similar ache he prayed Harry was feeling too. 

The others broke away for the restart, but Sonny clutched on tighter to Harry. He hadn’t been able to celebrate with him as often as he was used to today and so desperately wanted to savour this, the tightening of Harry’s fingers around his waist and neck. 

He’d always been thankful he bruised easily. 

Sonny reluctantly began to pull away but then Harry was holding him tighter and pushing his face further into his embrace, and in that moment the raw desire to be a part of H had never burned so strong. He wanted to share every movement, every breath. He so desperately wanted to be intertwined with Harry’s every being. They were known for being synchronised so why ruin that title now? 

But that was too much wasn’t it? He couldn’t just look up at him and declare he would fall down dead for him, bruise his knees praying to him for reasons so wretched and divine. To be that obscene would be a nightmare for them both. 

But it would all be true. 

Son Heung-min buried his face into Harry’s chest and selfishly wished he had the responsibility of being his heart. 

-

On the rare night they slept in their respective houses, Sonny sat up in bed shaking as he pulled out his phone. _Now or never_ , he urgently whispered to himself. _For god’s sake you’re (what did Ben call it? Ah!) a spud. Channel some of that audere est facere you wuss_. With jittery fingers, he typed out:

Come over? (^・ω・^ )  
1:00am 

For you, always. Are you okay?  
1:01am 

Good just lonely (⁎˃ᆺ˂)  
1:03am 

Also think we can’t keep ignoring some stuff anymore.  
1:06am 

Harry?????  
1:10am 

Still there?????  
1:30am 

Never mind. Wasn’t anything important anyway.  
2:02am

Son threw himself back onto the mattress and wailed in distress. He’d well and truly fucked it. Just as things were starting to get good again, just as when Harry was acting more affectionate than he’d ever been around Sonny – he had ruined it. Scared him away. It was safe to say he had misread between the lines. No way would a literal MBE holder be interested in a pathetic little winger like – 

And then the doorbell rang. 

When Sonny flung himself out of bed to swing open the door, there stood a drenched and breathless Harry Kane.

“I ran,” he gasped out. “The cars out for maintenance and the buses aren’t running. So I ran.” Son gaped at him.

“In the rain?” 

“In the rain.” His entire body convulsed as he shivered. “Let me in?” 

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah sorry.” Sonny angled his body so Harry could hesitantly step inside. “Towel?” He shakily spoke, pointing to the dinosaur patterned ones on the radiator. Harry weakly cracked a smile. 

“Very on brand. They’re new yeah?” Son flushed and jerked his head in confirmation. “I thought so. I’d never seen them before.” Harry cautiously took a step forward. “I’m so used to everything in this house and –” he breathed out softly. “It was different.” 

“Like us.” Sonny finally croaked out. “We’re different. I can throw away those towels and everything will go back to how it used to be. We can’t do that.” His heart was pounding, head heavy with the fog of thoughts circling his mind. Harry flung out an arm and caught him by the waist and reeled Son towards him before pressing a kiss against his neck. 

“Easy,” he murmured. “You don’t need to panic like last time. It’s fine. Talk to me. I won’t shut you out again.”

Son Heung-Min decided, for the first time in his life, to be brave. 

“I love you,” he sobbed out. “And maybe yeah, that’s a sin. Maybe my parents are right, and our fans are right and I’m a sinner and God will punish me but fuck the rules of heaven. I’ve been in love with you for almost six years and I won’t pray to God for forgiveness anymore.” Harry’s breath felt like gale-force winds against his throat. “Being held by you is the only utopia I need. I don’t want anything more.” 

Silence. Like that night in Madrid. Son felt ill. He’d taken it too far again.

He pushed himself out of Harry’s embrace and in desperation raised his head to scan his face. His looked flushed. Not like last time. 

“There’s – God Sonny how do you expect me to reply to that? Fuck – I should say something.” Harry whistled through his teeth. “I like you a lot. I like it when you’re happy. I like making you happy. I know I haven’t always acted like it and I don’t understand how you still look at me like I’m your whole world after that – but you’re special to me.” Sonny gently moved forward. 

“I won’t ever stop looking at you, no matter what. Because I love you that much.” 

“You shouldn’t! Don’t look at me like that, let me talk. I was cruel to you. I was angry and distant because I was afraid of what would happen to us. To our careers. But God, fucking hell Sonny, when I look at you I see something I thought I’d never see anywhere but at Tottenham. A future together.” He trailed off, embarrassed. “Only if you want though.” 

Son wanted. Wanted so hard his throat squeezed tight like Harry had enclosed his hands around his neck, trembled with sheer desire. Harry reached over and traced his finger along his jaw, like a prayer for which no words exist. He felt his heart take root in his body, like he discovered something he finally had a name for. Worship. 

The breath was knocked out of the both of them with the force at which they collided. Sonny’s hands gripped the back of his soaked woollen jumper and Harry, amongst the mess of mouths and clashes of teeth, had managed to slide a palm up his shirt, stroking his ribs and chest and _oh_ Son’s hips stuttered, thrusting into the side of H’s leg as a thumb brushed his nipple. A whine tumbled out of his lips before it was swallowed by Harry’s mouth back on his. Short nips of teeth against his swollen bottom lip were a welcome pain to Son. This was good. This was _real_.

Harry pulled back and they shivered against each other, bodies screaming for more. 

“It’s funny isn’t it?” He leant forward to pepper kisses down his neck, dusting over his collarbone before staying there, hot breath against skin making Sonny burn. “I suppose for the last couple of weeks we both sort of knew. Why didn’t we say anything sooner?” 

“Scared.” Son huffed out, aching in his trackies. “Thought you didn’t like me back.”

“I’ll sing it if a have to – serenade you with JB’s Baby.” He laughed hard against his chest as Sonny mock gagged. “Whatever it takes to make you believe it.” 

“I’m still sort of upset at how you treated me after Madrid,” he pouted. Harry ground against him. 

“I guess I gotta make those months up to you, huh?” As they stood there swaying in the hallway, relishing in the sound of tender sighs fluttering against their lips and the rain falling steady and soft, Son thought God was a fool for making him feel like this was a tragedy.

**Author's Note:**

> te amo; numquam a te discedam. tecum semper manebo - 'I love you; I shall never leave you. I shall always stay with you.'
> 
> I hope u all enjoyed that little mess 🥺 
> 
> Come find me down on Tumblr at @girlbosswinks :D I'm always happy to talk about KaneSon and Jose's tiddies


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